


point it home

by julgru



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Tour Fic, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:33:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julgru/pseuds/julgru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick snorts and plants another kiss on the top of Harry’s hair. He smells like Nick’s shampoo, and Nick has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying so. Now is not the time. “You’ve not seen me for months, Styles. I think you can last another weekend.”</p><p>“It’s not the same, though, is it? I can actually, like, see you now,” Harry mumbles against Nick’s skin. </p><p>Or, Harry is finally home from the Where We Are tour. Life is amazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	point it home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlepinkbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlepinkbow/gifts).



> this is written for the lovely littlepinkbow, with the prompt "Harry's return to London for his month long break from WWAT. Maybe Nick waking up to find a sleepy Harry half on his couch - angst, fluff, smut - all the good things follow". thank you! 
> 
> all mistakes are my own!!
> 
> enjoy!

“Such a great record this is. Labrinth there with _Jealous_ , and now. The moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Nick pauses and turns up the intro volume. “What is Fearne typing?”

Matt rolls his eyes per usual as Nick sings along to the intro, hands doing a tiny dance on his desk. “Fifi, what was your guess?”

“I said that she was typing out an email to her producer with a list of celebrities she wants on the Live Lounge, for example Jessie Ware, Jessie J and the girl who played Jessie in _Jessie_ ,” she says without looking away from her computer screen.

“Wow, now that’s a lot of Jessies. And you, Finchy? What do you reckon Fearne is typing?”

“I think that Fearne is typing a shopping order, including four different coloured nail polishes, a scarf, some socks and a cardigan.”

“Good one,” Nick grins. He is so excited to go home right now. “And little Ian?”

“I said that Fearne is typing a text to her cousin, who is in Australia at the moment, that she wants a picture of either a koala or a kangaroo, or she’ll be deeply disappointed.”

Fearne laughs from her studio, and Nick purposefully skips his own guess, everything to make the minutes pass faster. “Hiya, Fearne. How are you?”

“I’m great, thanks,” she answers. “Amazing guesses today, by the way.”

Nick gasps in fake shock. “Are we close? Did we get it?”

Fearne laughs again. “Not quite. I was texting my mum who’s a bit ill, probably the flu or something like it.”

“I did mention a text, though. I should get that point,” Ian interjects.

“Yeah, but you didn’t get the rest,” Fiona says, raising an eyebrow at Ian.

“You’ll get it next time, little Ian. Also, get well soon to Fearne’s mum. Hi Fearne’s mum.” Nick says, before asking Fearne what’s happening on her show today. He zones out a bit as she answers, ‘oh’-ing and ‘ah’-ing when needed.

They wrap it up only minutes later, Nick queuing up his last song before leaving it to Matt and Fiona to close their studio. Matt had called a too-tired-for-production-meeting emergency and decided that he’d send an email about tomorrow’s show to the lot later in the evening, letting them all go for now. Nick doesn’t mind; that gives him another few hours before he has to do stuff again.

He grabs a cab and goes straight home, answering a couple of texts and emails on the way. When the driver stops the car outside his flat, he pulls out a few notes and climbs out the car, the autumn drizzle hitting his face. He unlocks the door and kicks his shoes off while trying to write a tweet, almost tripping over Pig in the process.

“Hiya, Pig dog. You alright? You wanna have a wee? Let’s give you a wee, darling,” he says to her, telling himself it’s completely normal for a person to talk to one’s dog. People do that all the time. Nick even read it online.

Pig does that sniffy thing with her nose and yelps, tail wagging excitedly. She trots back into the living room, Nick following close behind. “Diva,” he mutters to himself, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over a chair. He walks further into the lounge, only stopping when he sees a familiar bag standing by his feet. He looks up, and very well.

On the couch, lying on his stomach, one leg and one arm dangling over the edge, blanket messily thrown over his hips and bum, all hair in his face, is Harry. He is wearing skinny jeans and a patterned shirt that looks way too thin to be worn in this weather. His phone is laying on the floor next to his hand, probably dropped when he fell asleep.

Nick’s stomach does a tingly thing as he looks at Harry, smiling stupidly wide. He allows himself to just stare for another minute - he hasn’t seen Harry for months, he’s definitely deserved it - before walking up to the sofa and crouching down to eye level. He strokes Harry’s hair out of his face, putting it behind his ear and watching it fall down his face again. He repeats it a few times, studying Harry’s features as he stirs, mumbling incoherent words and blinking his eyes open slowly.

“Hiya, darling. Did you have a good flight?” Nick asks, fiddling with his loose curls.

Harry nods. “Long,” he croaks, head leaning into Nick’s touch. God, Nick’s missed that so much.

“I’m going to give Pig a quick wee, I’ll be right back,” Nick says before standing up. Harry mumbles quietly behind him as Nick picks up Harry’s bag and carries it into the bedroom, knowing that’s where he always end up sleeping anyway.

The walk Pig gets is even less than quick, though, if Nick is honest. He takes about seventeen steps, lets her have a piss on a bush before turning around and walking back to the flat. Pig doesn’t seem to be bothered though, she’s really not a big fan of rain, and she’ll probably leave a poo on Nick’s favourite carpet for all she cares.

When Nick is back he cleans up some dirty cups and his breakfast bowl as the kettle boils next to him. He makes two cups of tea, one with sugar and one without, before bringing them to the living room. He leaves them on the coffee table for later, crouching down to wake Harry up for real.

“Alright, now, sleepyhead. Wake up, or you won’t be able to sleep tonight,” he whispers, running his hand through Harry’s slightly greasy but soft hair. It feels good between his fingers, just as he remembers it; just a tiny bit longer.

“Don’t want to sleep tonight, wanna sleep now,” Harry mutters, burying his face into the pillow.

“None of that, now. You have to tell me all about tour. You promised me, remember?” Nick reaches back to grab Harry’s tea, careful not to spill it. “Come on, up you go. I made you tea, love.”

Harry sits up then, rubbing his eyes sleepily before accepting his cup. He blows on the surface and takes a small sip as Nick sits down on the sofa next to him, his own tea in hand.

“I’ve missed you loads,” Harry says, nuzzling his face into the side of Nick’s neck, leaving small pecks down his throat. Nick smiles and looks down on him, catching Harry staring at his lips. He leans in, kissing just the side of his mouth.

They rearrange themselves after that, Harry laying half on top of Nick, back to chest, head on shoulder and fingers intertwined on Harry’s stomach. Nick takes the opportunity to inhale Harry’s scent, kissing down his neck and shoulder. He nips slightly on the skin, feeling the heat radiate from Harry’s body.

“So what’s the plan? How long are you here?” Nick doesn’t quite dare to say home, because he’s not sure what Harry defines as _home_ anymore.

Harry hums over the rim of his cup. “Was planning on paying mum and Gem a visit next week. Doing a bit of promo in London as well, but no plans otherwise. ‘S just good to be home for a bit.”

Nick can’t stop the smile that spreads on his face, hiding it in Harry’s hair. “It’s nice to have you back, popstar.”

-

Harry leaves for Holmes Chapel that weekend, after a rough few days of heavy jetlag and promotion stuff. He asks Nick if he can wave him off at the door when he leaves, which in turn means that Nick has to cancel his lunch and midday drinking plans with Daisy and Gillian. He does it without hesitating though, because honestly - he couldn’t not.

“Tell everyone I said hello, will you?” Nick says, kissing the little frowny wrinkles between Harry’s eyes for the fourth time in a row.

“Of course,” Harry says, leaning up to burrow his face in Nick’s neck. He’s still a bit sleepy, Nick’s noticed, but he promised he was awake enough to drive by himself. It doesn’t stop Nick from feeling just the slightly bit worried for him though, it never does. Harry tends to promise more than he actually can live up to. “I’ll miss you.”

Nick snorts and plants another kiss on the top of Harry’s hair. He smells like Nick’s shampoo, and Nick has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying so. Now is not the time. “You’ve not seen me for months, Styles. I think you can last another weekend.”

“It’s not the same, though, is it? I can actually, like, see you now,” Harry mumbles against Nick’s skin. Harry needs to leave about right now if he’s going to be able to avoid driving after the sun’s gone down later.

“It’s exactly the same. Now, off you go. I’ve already cancelled one too many dates with my friends today because of you,” Nick says, doing a half-hearted try to push Harry away from his body to get him going. “Let’s wave you off, proper housewifey and all.”

“I’ll call you tonight, don’t be busy.”

“Clingy.”

“You love it,” Harry says before pecking Nick’s lips one last and picking up his overnight bag, heading out the door.

Nick wants to deny it, but he really can’t.

 

Nick keeps himself busy throughout the day; takes a joint walk with Daisy and the dogs, goes in for a meeting with the _Sweat_ -crew, chats with Jane over Skype and mops his floor. The clock’s almost eleven when Harry calls,  Nick sitting in front of the telly and watching last week’s episode on _Keeping Up With the Kardashians._

“Good evening, Harry Styles!” Nick greets. “How’s the life in the middle of nowhere?”

“Heeey,” Harry drawls, voice deep. He sounds ten times more awake and happy than he did this morning. Nick tries not to notice. “It’s really good. Gemma’s not home though, she’ll be here tomorrow. She’s kinda upset I didn’t tell her I was going home”

“She’ll get over it, dear. She’s a strong lady.”

There is a pause after that, which usually Nick would feel the need to fill with nonsense chatter and stories, especially over the phone, but right now, he just lets it be. Instead, he imagines Harry laying on his bed in his childhood room, maybe with a cup of tea on his bedside table, doing that stupid smirk-smiley thing with his face.

“Mum asked about you today.”

“Ahhh, Anne. The Iron Lady of my life, my knightess in shining armor. Give her my best, yeah?”

Harry giggles. “Already did, earlier. Will tell her you said that, though. She’ll be happy to hear.”

Nick hums. He’s got a cup of coffee next to him, mostly because he didn’t want to fall asleep before Harry called, but now considers upgrading it to a glass of wine. It’s Friday, after all.

“Hey, Nick,” Harry says excitedly.

“Yeah, love?”

“Knock, knock.”

Nick sighs exaggeratedly, rolling his eyes even though Harry can’t see it. “God, Harry. Don’t you have other things to do? Like socialize with your family?”

Harry doesn’t answer, but Nick’s about ninety-six percent sure he’s grinning.  

“Alright, then. This better be good. Who’s there?”

Harry laughs on beforehand, tiny chuckling sounds. “Tank.”

“Tank who?”

“You’re welcome.”

Nick groans, running a hand over his face as Harry breaks out in laughter. It’s not long before Nick joins, though, because it’s so _stupid_. The joke is stupid, Harry is stupid, Nick is stupid, and everything’s just so lovely when he’s finally back. How fucking stupid.

-

When Harry says that they’ve got a monthlong break, he means about one week of work and three weeks of actual break time. It’s nothing big though, a couple of interviews, shows and other promo stuff outside UK. It’s a lot easier now, though, watching Harry leave. Nick wasn’t a fan at all in the beginning, but Harry is a man of his words. If he says that he’ll be back for Nick, then he’ll be back for Nick, always.

“I don’t quite understand your arrangement, to be honest,” Ian says, mouth filled with potatoes. They’re having a Sunday roast, at Daisy’s this time, which is always a blast. Harry’s in Germany for a couple of days, but the wine is flowing, there is food everywhere, promises for dessert, and the loveliest company of all. Nick loves their Sunday roasts, has done since the beginning, but he’s feeling a bit off this evening. “Are you boyfriends? Just friends? Or FWBs?”

The entire table turns toward Ian, the entire room quiet all of a sudden, and Nick feels a bit bad for him. He’s not been to many of their bigger gatherings, and Nick’d hate to see him leave the fellowship already.

“Ian! You know we don’t speak of that,” Aimee whisper-shouts, as if Nick wouldn’t hear. That makes him feel even worse; they’ve never treated him as something fragile before. They definitely don’t have to start now.

Ian swallows, looking embarrassed mildly confused. “Oops? I mean, eh, sorry?”

“No worries, little Ian. It’s a bit confusing to us all, I think,” Nick says, trying to go for a joking tone to lighten up the mood, but comes out a lot heavier than he planned.

Everyone is quiet for a moment, which definitely is a bit unusual. “Anyway, let’s have a toast for the awful weather that keeps messing up my hair. Cheers,” Alexa breaks the silence after a while, raising her class in the air for everyone to follow. Knowing their friends, they do, shouting ‘cheers’ and clinking their glasses with each other, the awkward situation already long forgotten.

 

Later the same evening, when they’re done eating and spread out around Daisy’s flat doing all different sort of things, Ian comes up to Nick and sits down on the couch next to him. He looks awfully cautious and doesn’t say anything for a long time, just watching Nick with a sad frown.

“I’m sorry if I, like, went way over my head before. You know - with the, um,” he starts, gesturing with his hands, as if _you know._

“Don’t worry about it, honestly,” Nick says and smiles as big as he can, patting Ian’s thigh lightly. Ian doesn’t look any more relieved than before, though, still looking at Nick with worried eyes. Nick looks away and takes a rather big gulp of his wine, wincing slightly at the taste. He swallows deeply, just avoiding a full on choke incident. “And to answer your question, not quite any of them, I reckon.”

Ian looks puzzled, like he’s trying to remember what his question was. “I- you didn’t have to answer that. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Well, there’s nothing more unsatisfying than a question that goes unanswered, right?” Nick tries to joke, winking.

“So, you don’t mind?” Ian asks, fiddling with his half-empty beer bottle.

“Not at all.” It’s a bit of a lie, but hey. It’s Ian, for god’s sake. Nick’ll survive.

Ian looks hesitant. “Um, so if you’re not - that. Then what are you?”

Nick takes a deep breath, bracing himself. It’s okay. It was bound to come, anyway. “We’re sort of a mix of it all, I think? When he’s here, he’s here with me and when he’s not, he’s just not. I don’t know, I like to think of it as a you’re-free-to-do-what-you-want agreement, but he never listens anymore.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? Letting him do stuff with other people?”

“Nah, that’d be a bit selfish of me otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

Ian considers that for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I think you have to be a bit selfish sometimes. Not like possessive-selfish, just selfish enough to allow yourself to enjoy the beauty that is Harry Styles.”

Nick groans. “Oh my god, on what awful teenager’s twitter account did you read that? Wait- I don’t even want to know, to be honest,” Nick laughs. Ian smiles, and Nick feels about twelve times lighter. It’s good. They’re good.

Daisy chooses that exact moment to bring out tea and dessert. They all gather around the coffee table, everyone equally eager to taste whatever Daisy’s made this time.

“You are, without doubt, an angel sent from the heaven of pastries,” Pixie says, mouthful of toffee pudding. Daisy giggles and does a kissy face towards Pixie, grinning.

It might not be the best night, but Nick enjoys it nevertheless.

-

Nick loves it most when he’s allowed around Harry all the time. When he can slide down on the seat next to Harry on events. When he can pinch Harry’s sides where he’s the most sensitive as he makes them both a midnight sandwich. When he can bump their hips together while brushing their teeth on the mornings. When he can kiss the inside of Harry’s wrist, whenever he wants to. When Harry’s laying half on top of him in cab after a night out. When Harry texts him selfies in bed while Nick’s still on air. When he can watch Harry as he laughs at something Nick said. When Harry feeds him leftover chocolate brownies.

Or, when he wakes up with because Harry punched him in the dick with his knee.

“Monster,” Nick groans, cupping his aching balls. He pushes Harry away from his body, and groans a little louder, hoping that’ll wake him up, but Harry just rolls over and continues to snore lightly, small puffy breathing sounds coming from his side of the bed. Nick rolls his eyes and gets out of bed anyway, pain shooting through his lower abdomen as he stands up, making his way to the ensuite. He considers waking Harry up the same he woke Nick as he takes a piss, but leaves the thought in the bathroom when he’s done.

He climbs back into bed, balls still throbbing a bit, and jams his fingers into Harry’s side, tickling him. Harry jolts awake and tries to escape from Nick, which ends up in a pile of Harry and his sheet on the floor. He looks confused, and Nick can’t help but throw his head back and bark out a laugh.

“Why’d you do that?” Harry asks, obviously caught off guard. He’s got his deep, even raspier morning voice on, his hair flat on one side meanwhile the other side is living it’s own life as it seems. He’s so stupidly pretty, still.

“Well, I’d like to ask you the same, if I’m honest,” Nick complains, moving over as Harry crawls back up in bed. “My dick’s probably damaged for life, thanks to you.”

Harry puts his head on Nick’s shoulder, nuzzling his face into his neck, and just like that the throbbing is gone. Harry’s skin is warm, his lips warmer and his breath the warmest, and Nick can finally enjoy them all together.

“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you,” he says, not even asking what he did. He probably knows, after all. Harry’s hand slides down Nick’s body, stroking his stomach. Nick isn’t usually very fond of people stroking, touching over all, his tummy, but Harry gets to do it all. “Tea and coffee?”

“And toast,” Nick says, kissing the tiny birthmark on the side of Harry’s forehead. “Obviously.”

 

Nick ends up making the toasts, while Harry makes coffee and tea for them. Harry barely drink coffee at all, meanwhile Nick only drinks tea if the clock’s passed two pm, otherwise it’s coffee and only coffee.

They move around the kitchen with an ease Nick hasn’t noticed until now, getting things from the cupboards, filling the kettle with water, stealing small kisses now and then. Harry hums on a tune Nick doesn’t recognise at first, as he pours coffee into a cup - probably something he’s just made up. His hips are swaying along to the melody and he looks downright edible, all long legs, soft curves and toned back. Nick puts two pieces of bread in the roaster and walks up behind him, digging his fingers into the flesh of Harry’s hipbones. Harry jumps a bit, but doesn’t protest, leaning back against Nick’s body.

“Come on let me change your ticket home,” he sings, low. He turns around in Nick’s arms, blinking up at him with his stupid, bright eyes. Nick pecks his nose, and then his eyebrow, his cheek, his other cheek, before finally kissing his lips. It’s just a brief kiss, though, because Harry can’t stop grinning. Nick can relate.

“Dance with me?” Harry asks, holding out a hand. Nick takes it and swirls Harry around once, and then twice.

“Beautiful,” Nick says. “You lads should take lessons and then go ballroom dancing like Ed Sheeran did. Maybe with each other, even. It’d be a proper laugh.”

Harry shakes his head slowly, the smirky side-smile on his lips, dimple popping. The kettle clicks off and Harry goes to make himself a cup of tea, leaving Nick with his coffee.

They eat their toasts together, Harry talking about a picture of their cat Anne sent him this morning. It still surprises Nick, how slow Harry can talk sometimes. He doesn’t mind though; it’s one of his top ten favourite things about Harry, besides his tattoos, how well their hands fit together, his lazy smile and his quite glorious cock.

After breakfast, they spend pretty much the entire day on the sofa, watching stupid telly, cuddling and taking turns on who should go and get the snacks from the kitchen. It’s not until late afternoon they actually get up to do something productive, sharing a long shower before getting dressed. Harry suggest going out to see Pixie and Aimee, which is exactly what they end up doing, meeting them at their favourite pub.

“Harry, my love!” Aimee greets, embracing him in a hug. “It’s so good to see you, finally.”

“It’s good to see you too,” he replies, his Harry-charm, as Nick likes to call it, already in full spin. “Hi, Pix,” he says, hugging Pixie as well. Nick gives Aimee a kiss on her cheek in lieu of hello’s, fully ignoring her raised eyebrow.

“It’s been a while since you two were out in daylight together,” Aimee says, mostly to Nick. “It’s nice,” she adds, because deep inside she’s a good person, and Nick loves her a lot.

“Yeah,” Harry says, looking at Nick fondly. Nick’s body goes through a series of emotions, fluttering stomach to aching chest, sweaty hands to pounding heart, and finishing off with a full body shiver. “It’s one of the better perks of being home.”

-

The club is dark and the music’s loud, the base throbbing into the core of Nick’s bones. It’s late and he’s got work tomorrow, but he’s drunk and the show’s going to be a mess anyway, so he might as well drink some more. It’s also Harry’s last night before they’re heading to Australia or some other country that’s too far away for stupid, irrelevant popstar reasons, and Nick’s plan is to take advantage of it in every way possible.

Harry is draped half on top of him as they’re finishing their fifth or sixth round at the bar, Nick can’t quite remember, chatting loudly to a purple haired girl next to Nick. He is breathing hotly against the side of Nick’s jaw, and it takes every ounce of Nick’s self control to keep himself from nibbling on Harry’s ear lobe.

“My sister, Gemma, had purple hair a while ago,” Harry slurs, and gripping Nick’s hips to keep steady. “It looked wicked.”

The girl, who introduced herself as Lily or Molly or something, smiles widely, showing off her straight, white teeth. “Really? I had no idea,” she says, probably sarcastically. Nick likes her already.

“Yeah!” Harry says enthusiastically. “It was like pink, and lilac and a bit blue as well, I think. Was it blue, Nick? I can’t remember.”

The girls looks at Nick and laughs, shaking her head. “Might be time for you to take him home, eh, Grimmy?” She says, winking. It makes Nick a bit uncomfortable, people knowing more than they should, but really. They’re not exactly subtle right now.

“Oh! Oh! Wait, you know who he is? D’you listen to his show?” Harry asks, eyes wide. He looks a bit obscene, lips pink and swollen from snogging in the loo earlier, glossy-eyed and flushed.

The girl nods, her short hair bouncing along to the movement. Harry breaks out in the fullest of smiles, almost bouncing in his seat. “Nick, Nick, she’s a, um, a listener,” he chants.

“Yeah, popstar,” Nick says, pretty sure he’s slurring as well. “It was lovely meeting you, but I think I’m gonna follow your advice and make sure this one gets some sleep,” he says to the girl, downing the last of his drink before pulling out a note for their drinks. He makes sure he’s got everything, that Harry’s got everything, turning around to see the girl taking a selfie with Harry. They hug each other goodbye, as if they are best friends already, and Nick gestures for Harry to exit the club first.

Well in the car and away from shouting paps, Harry lays his head on Nick’s shoulder, hand finding Nick’s thigh. Nick covers Harry’s hand with his own and wills the driver to go faster, heart starting to speed up. He wants to be home, he wants to be in his bed, he wants to fucking take Harry apart.

He knows it’s probably not a good idea to kiss Harry right now, but his brain is too intoxicated, not only on the numerous pints and drinks and shots, but on the smell of his shampoo in Harry’s hair, Harry’s cologne, Harry’s aftershave. He leans down and meets Harry’s lips, opening his mouth immediately. Harry tastes like Jägermeister and his favourite chewing gum, and he moans low in his voice when Nick cups his jaw, changing the angle slightly. It’s good, as always, so good Nick loses track of time as they kiss. Suddenly the car comes to a stop and they have to break apart, both of them panting from the lack of air.

They’ve barely closed the bedroom door, shutting Pig out, before Harry drops to his knees, fiddling with Nick’s belt. He is biting his post-kiss wet bottom lip in concentration, eyebrows pulled into a frown. Nick drags his hand through Harry’s hair, making his eyes close and lips part on a small whimper.

When Harry finally unbuckles and unzips Nick’s jeans, pulling his dick out, he wastes no time swallowing Nick down, taking him all the way to the back of his throat. He moans obscenely, as if he’s been starved of Nick’s cock, vibrations sending a shiver through Nick’s body. Harry hollows his cheeks and does that _thing_ with his tongue Nick’ll never, ever get over; flicking it just underneath the head of Nick’s dick.

“Shit, fuck, Harry. Slow down,” Nick breathes, throwing his head against the door as Harry swallows him down again. They should probably move to the bed sometime soon enough, but Nick probably couldn’t walk if he wanted to. Instead, he grabs a bit of Harry’s hair and tugs, pulling his head backwards somewhat.

Harry starts sucking on the head, glancing up at Nick. His eyes are slightly wet, his lips pulled tight around Nick’s cock. He looks dead pretty like this, and Nick wants to lick every inch of his body. He pushes Harry’s face away from his cock in order to get what he wants, Harry holding out his tongue for one final taste.

Nick maneuvers them to the bed, undressing himself before tipping Harry backwards on the bed, helping him strip off his clothes. He plants a kiss on every newly naked part of Harry, his hips, his stomach, his shoulder, his third nipple, his collarbones, and then finally his cock. He doesn’t spend too much time sucking Harry off, Nick knows he’s already worked up and doesn’t need it, so instead he kisses up Harry’s body once more before kissing his mouth. He doesn’t taste the way he did in the car anymore, just plain and simple _Harry_.

Harry whines when Nick doesn’t reach for the lube and condom, so he takes the matter into his own hands and turns away from Nick to grab for it himself. He hands it to Nick without a word, blinking up at him.

Nick opens Harry up slowly, taking his time, finger by finger. Harry’s always tight, which means that Nick has to be careful pretty much all the time, but he don’t thinks he’s ever gone this slow.

“Nick, come on,” Harry whines, rocking down against Nick’s fingers. He’s only got two in, not nearly enough friction for Harry. Nick kisses his laurels, before nipping on his Brazil tattoo, just to drive Harry tiny bit more crazy with it.

He works Harry up to three fingers before Harry starts to wank himself off, announcing that he’s close. Nick’s having none of it, pulling out his fingers and slapping Harry’s hand away from his dick.

“Uh uh, not yet,” he says. He looks at Harry, looks at his pink lips, and before he knows it, they’re kissing again. It feels almost unreal sometimes, kissing Harry, and now is one of those times. His brain still isn’t completely clear, if anything he feels even drunker, and he once again loses the track of time, kissing Harry.

It could be half a minute, or maybe half an hour later when they pull apart. Nick is so hard, his dick’s probably gone purple by now. He doesn’t intend to say that out loud, but Harry throws his head back and laughs, baring his throat to Nick.

“Like the girl in the club’s hair,” he says, still giggling. Nick doesn’t understand what he’s talking about, doesn’t answer him at all; he’s way too busy licking and sucking on Harry’s throat.

Harry pushes at Nick’s shoulders slightly, turning his face so Nick can’t finish what he started. “No marks, I’ve got to be in public,” he slurs, blinking slowly. Nick grunts in response and starts looking for the condom, thrown somewhere in the sheets. He rips it open with his teeth and fits it over his cock, spreading some more lube over it.

As usual, the first thrust into Harry is the best, being devoured by tight, wet heat. Harry groans loudly, legs coming up to wrap around Nick’s hips. The change in angle lets Nick go even deeper, and he can’t help but let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Harry leans up to capture Nick’s lips in a deep kiss, breathing into each other mouths as Nick pulls out a bit before thrusting back in.

It’s quite glorious, the way Harry loses everything on Nick’s cock, whining and groaning and sobbing on every jab of Nick’s dick. Nick can feel him dragging his nails down his shoulders and back, hissing at the sharp feeling. He bites at Harry’s earlobe as he drives his hips up in a particularly hard thrust, earning something of a blend between a sob and a moan.

“Shit, you feel, fuck, so-.” Nick isn’t even able to finish his sentence, Harry clenching around him. He takes the back of Harry’s knees and pulls them towards his chest, Harry crying out again at the new angle. “Fuck, Harry, Fuck.”

“Right there, right there, right there, right there, right there, right there, right there, right there” he chants, digging his fingers into Nick’s biceps. Nick groans, it’s probably going to leave a mark, but fuck, if he doesn’t mind.

Nick lowers his head to lick at Harry’s collarbones, leaning over on one arm to hold himself up, the other one going down to wank Harry off. It’s not an easy task, both stroking Harry’s cock and keeping the rhythm of his hips up. Harry goes completely still, though, clenching hard on Nick’s dick. “Gonna,” he breathes out, only seconds before he shoots off, warm liquid landing on his chest and Nick’s hand.

Nick releases Harry’s spent cock, familiar heat forming in his lower abdomen. He’s so close, so, so, so fucking close. He just needs, a bit, just.

“Fuck,” he swears as Harry continues to clench and unclench his muscles, knowing exactly what it does to Nick. He’s probably sore by now, oversensitive, but Nick is so close. He bites down on one of Harry’s nipples, and the groan he gets in response is what sends him over the edge, nerves on fucking _fire_.

Nick comes so hard he sees starts, filling the condom for what feels like forever. It just goes on and on and on, his entire body shuddering. When he’s finally come down, Harry is looking up at him sleepily, a tired smile on his face. Harry cups Nick’s jaw and brings their mouths together, snogging sleepily. Harry’s tongue is warm and wet, and it feels so fucking good in contrast to Nick’s dry mouth.

“That was great,” Harry mumbles when Nick pulls out his softening cock, reaching for a flannel to clean the spunk of his hand and Harry’s stomach. He throws it in the general direction of the laundry basket, not really caring where it lands right now. “I liked that a lot.”

“I liked that too,” Nick answers, his voice hoarse.

Harry cuddles up against Nick’s side, murmuring out a good night, probably asleep about six seconds later. Nick follows short after, giving Harry’s hip one last squeeze before letting the drowsiness drag him into sleep.

-

It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that good things ends almost too soon in most cases. Like _The Hunger Games_ , for example. Chocolate, the summer, a really bottle of wine etcetera. What there is never to forget, though, is that they should be enjoyed to the fullest, always. No matter the consequences might be.

The same thing goes with Harry.

It’s lovely, when he’s there but he’s not, Nick is once again reminded how awfully lonely his flat is. Sure, Pig is a big lady, takes up a _lot_ of space, but it’s not quite enough most times.

Which is why, he’s a bit disappointed when he finds out Harry’s gone to LA right after Australia, not mentioning a word when he’s flying back home. It’s awfully and utterly boring without him here, and the weather keeps getting worse. It’s freezing, and there is nobody to heat him up when he goes to bed, or when he gets home. Nick hates it so much.

Nick is alright though. He knows how to keep himself busy. He knows where to find his friends, he knows how to put that little extra effort into his work. He attends to more events than he usually does, and he’s not even frowned upon once. It’s great, it’s fun, and it’s a big fucking relief.

But, what people might forget again though, is that the summer comes again, every year. There is the possibility to buy more chocolate. The wine is still there, next time you go shopping. _The Hunger Games_ is available on _Netflix_ , always.

And the same thing goes with Harry.

He’s home not even a week after he’s travelled to LA. He’s home, lying on Nick’s couch, sleeping heavily with Pig on his stomach. It’s lovely, and pretty, and charming, and sweet, and endearing and loads of other stupidly happy adjectives Nick can’t think about right now. Nick’ll be damned if he doesn’t feel his heart skipping a beat, no matter how cliché it is. It fucking _happens_.

He drops to his knees in front of the sofa, a déja vu feeling forming inside from not at all long ago, and he strokes the hair out of Harry’s face. It falls back into his face, and Nick does it again and again and again. Harry looks horrible relaxed and soft, mouth slightly opened, like he always does when he’s asleep. Nick wants to wake him up, wants to kiss him, but he can’t quite stop himself from staring. Enjoy the beauty that is Harry Styles. About exactly what he’s going to do, Ian. Thank you.

“Hiya, darling,” Nick says, kissing Harry’s cheek, his eyebrow, his temple. He doesn’t even stir, eyelids twitching along to wheezy-sounding snores. “Did you have a good flight?”

**Author's Note:**

> title from falling slowly by glen hansard ft marketa irglova


End file.
